


Raiders of the Lost Ark

by wordswehavesaid



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, Indiana Jones AU, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other additional characters to be added, that about sums it up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-05-06 13:35:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5419034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordswehavesaid/pseuds/wordswehavesaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU of the first Indiana Jones movie with the role of intrepid archaeologist Dr. Jones played by Oliver Queen and Barry Allen as his long-lost lover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starrxlorrd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrxlorrd/gifts).



> Ok, I realize I have five billion projects going on you guys, but my awesome friend Robby was getting anon hate on tumblr for absolutely no reason and that would not stand. So I have typed up the first chapter of this awesome AU we once headcanoned for like 12 hours straight. No joke. Because he deserves it. You and your work are awesome, Robby, and don't let anyone else tell you otherwise.
> 
> And I hope everyone else enjoys as well!

Lian Yu. _Purgatory_ in Mandarin. His guide, a man called Maseo, had told him the name of the island, and sweating through his shirt even in the shade of this humid jungle of a landscape he has to agree it’s the perfect description. Even so, they’re better off tramping through the undergrowth with the trees as their cover rather than using a more well-worn path to the site. After all, trespassers like themselves don’t typically use the front door.

Even here, there’s no guarantee of safety. He pauses to examine a dart embedded in a tree trunk, pulls it out and examines the darkened tip. Poison.

“Dr. Queen?” Maseo prompts from up ahead, his eyes darting about the forest. “Please, we should hurry. We’re very close now.”

Oliver gives a single nod in acknowledgement and places the dart back. Then he’s once more just a step behind the man.

Soon they can make out a large stone structure beyond the line of trees, and he knows they’ve found the temple’s entrance.

Once inside, his keen eyes begin to sweep the cavern. Maseo is not so contained, their goal so near in sight clearly too much a temptation, and Oliver has to reach out and jerk him back with a hand on his shoulder before he can step down into a pool of light.

He ignores the indignant look that gets, instead waving his arm quickly in the same space in demonstration. Barely after he’s withdrawn it, sharp spikes shoot out from the wall, a nearly fully decomposed corpse still impaled on them. The color drains from his guide’s complexion at the sight.

“There’ll be booby traps all through the place,” he tells him. “Stay out of the light.”

They maneuver more carefully past this obstacle, but only a few paces ahead there’s a deep pit, likely too wide to safely jump. Fortunately he spots a wooden beam high above that looks sturdy enough.

Oliver takes out the bullwhip hanging at his side and with a flick of his wrist has it wrapping around the beam. He guides Maseo to take a hold of it and swing over, then takes his turn when it’s sent back to him.

They’ve reached the final chamber, and ahead of them on a pedestal they can see it: the hosen, with its intricate markings, sitting out in the open. But the floor…he bends down to study it. There are certain stones that feel as though they might give under the weight of a man, likely to trigger more traps. He holds a hand up to Maseo, indicating he wait. It’ll be better to go this alone. With careful tread he’s able to cross the room without incident.

Oliver’s prepared for this final test, having read of it in the texts. He retrieves a bag of sand from his satchel, tries to judge by sight just how much the hosen might weigh. A handful of sand is removed. Then he prepares to make the switch. It’s essential the hosen is removed and replaced in the exact same moment. And he thinks…he’s…got it!

A wave a relief washes over him as he stands back up, and he can hear Maseo’s exhale of breath. But then the pressurized plate of the pedestal sinks—the bag wasn’t right. They can hear a rumbling above them and the stone structure starts to crack, Oliver turning to run.

Poison darts shoot out from the walls as he forgoes worrying about the floor, just missing him as he sprints to the outer passageway. Up ahead, Maseo is already swinging across, but the beam breaks under his weight. He’s left on the other side with the bullwhip.

Oliver gestures for it. “Throw me the whip.”

“First, the hosen,” the man disputes. Oliver nearly growls but tosses it across the pit.

“Maseo, the whip!”

The man takes a look down at the hosen in his hands. “Apologies, doctor.” Then he’s dropping it to the floor and darting out of sight back through the cave.

Oliver has little time to think as the ground is shaking under his feet. He throws his arms out and leaps, not quite clearing the pit. His hands scrabble on the ground, legs kicking, as he reaches desperately for a root stuck in the ground to pull himself up.

A wall is descending in front of him and he just manages to roll himself under, reaching back for the whip, before it closes. He’s barely taken a breath and gotten to his feet before he nearly walks right into the spikes—already extended and having claimed another victim. The hosen lies at the greedy man’s feet. He picks it up.

“Apologies.”

He gets two more steps before the rumbling increases to a deafening roar as the ceiling caves, a large boulder rolling down on a path intent to crush him. Oliver is blindly fleeing down the passageway, working desperately to keep his feet under him.

He tumbles out of the temple’s entrance in a roll, coming up only to find a spear pointed in his face.

“Well, Dr. Queen,” a familiar cultured voice drawls, and he wants to curse. Instead, Oliver raises his eyes from the weapon and the man carrying it, a scowl making its way to his face.

“Fyers.” Dr. Edward Fyers, backed by another dozen or so of the island’s inhabitants similarly armed, smirks down at him.

“We meet again, Oliver. And I see you’ve retrieved the hosen. I really must thank you, it saves me quite a bit of trouble.”

“What did you have to tell these people to get them to help you?” He sneers. “Do they know you’re just going to steal it away for your own profit?”

“Oh, if only you knew the language you might be able to tell them yourself,” his rival laments. “But that’s the way this little game of ours goes, Oliver: My allies are better than yours. I always pick the winning side.”

“It belongs in a museum, Fyers,” he tries one last time, even as the islander in front of him is gesturing with his spear. With great reluctance, he holds the hosen out and watches as it’s plucked from his fingers and passed to Fyers.

“Since I’m the sporting kind, of course, I will allow you to run,” the man comments offhand. “Thank you again, Dr. Queen. Till the next time, provided you make it off this island.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, pushing to his feet and starting a mad sprint back through the trees. The hosen is lost to him now, but with enough luck he might be able to keep his life. He’s being pursued, made obvious by the poison darts hitting the trees around him and bouncing off the back of his leather jacket. They’re quickly gaining on him, but he can hear running water and knows he’s made it to the coastline where his hired pilot waits.

The man is leaning back in the cockpit, looking for all the world as though he has absolutely no troubles, and does Oliver envy that. “Start the engine!” He bellows, and the pilot sits up with a start, eyes widening upon catching sight of them. But he’s quick enough to do as asked.

Oliver runs straight into the ocean, swimming out to the plane as the engine grumbles to life. His pursuers have stopped at the water’s edge, although the occasional dart is still shot in his direction. It’s barely a nuisance now.

And he’s nearly ready to relax as he clambers into the backseat, taking his hat off to avoid having it blow away in the wind—only to nearly jump out his skin. “There’s a snake in the plane!”

“Yeah, he’s my pet,” the man hollers back, and he thinks his jaw drops. Sure, he’d been counting on his sense of adventure when he’d hired him for the job, but this is insane!

“I hate snakes!” He declares, shifting completely to one side to try and stay as far away as possible from the creature. If they weren’t already in the air he’d consider jumping.

The pilot only laughs. “So, success?”

“ _No_ ,” he growls, and slouches in the seat, determined to leave it at that.

Another fruitless expedition, with nothing to show for it. How many times has Fyers stepped in at the last moment and cheated him out of a find? More than he can count. It’s starting to feel like a routine, a more exhausting routine than the papers waiting for him back at the university needing to be graded. When did his life start looking like this?

He barely recalls a time he didn’t feel exhausted, defeated. A time when he was happy, when each dig and expedition carried a promise of something greater. When he wasn’t so solitary. An ally he could depend on to work for him, _with_ him, and not for the treasure; someone to chase the snakes away when he can't; a shining smile and warm body; that soft voice in his ear… _“Ollie.”_

He grimaces to suppress a groan of frustration. Why can’t he just leave that to history, where it belongs? Longing for days gone by, relics of his own personal past, won’t help him in the present. Oliver crosses his arms and settles in for the long flight, knowing he’ll need his rest before returning to the daily grind of a lecture hall.

But it doesn’t stop the dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So many thanks for all the great reviews on chapter one! I've been trying to prioritize Partners and I'm getting closer to finishing that but thought I'd put out chapter two on this AU since I have it. Hope you all enjoy!

He’s thankful the only class he has today is his introductory course; Oliver slept fitfully on the journey home and is practically dead on his feet. He’s sure it shows, but the students in the front two rows at least are still paying rapt attention. A second glance shows him they’re predominantly made up of young women.

Oliver turns back to the board. “Archeology is the pursuit of the truth. You won’t be going on any sort of treasure hunts. We deal in _fact_ ,” he writes that word for emphasis, “not fiction.”

As he looks back, however, he catches sight of Walter Steele through the window in his door. Oliver clears his throat. “And that concludes the lesson. Have chapter two read for the next class.” There comes the thunderous scraping back of chairs and rumbling as the students begin to make their way to the door talking amongst themselves. One of the young women stops by his desk, placing an apple there and averting her eyes as she leaves the room.

He sighs and ignores it, waiting until the last of his students have exited before going to join Walter in the hall. He should’ve figured the curator would come to see him. Walter is like family, and very understanding, but he does expect results or at the least an explanation. Unfortunately for Oliver, today all he has is the latter.

“I’m assuming by the look you’re wearing that the expedition didn’t go as planned,” the older man surmises.

“Fyers,” is his one-word answer. “Again.”

“It seems the man makes more of a sport out of beating you than the archeology itself,” Walter notes, to which he scowls. “I’d appreciate it if you’d remove that particular expression, Oliver, because I’m here for more than to talk about that distasteful individual.”

“Oh?” Is all the response he can really muster. He’s too tired for Walter’s Britishness today.

“Yes. There’s someone here to meet with you, from the government.”

“What do they want with me?” He asks, instantly wary.

“I wouldn’t know. They said it was a rather urgent matter. If you’d come with me,” the man gestures down the hall. Oliver hesitates, then nods. This ought to be worth hearing, at the least.

He follows Walter into an unoccupied lecture hall. Unoccupied, aside from two smartly dressed people, one a rather nondescript man and the other a woman, dark-skinned and severe-looking. It’s the woman who approaches him, hand held out and taking his in a very firm grip. “Dr. Queen? Amanda Waller. Mr. Steele tells me you specialize in ancient archeological artifacts.”

“I do. What need does the US government have for them?”

“Nothing. But Hitler has decided his government does,” she states bluntly. Oliver’s eyes widen, and even more so when she continues. “Tell me, Dr. Queen, have you ever heard of the Ark of the Covenant?”

“I’ve heard the biblical tale,” he responds after a moment. “Miss—uh, Agent Waller, I can assure you the ark is myth.”

“Henry Allen doesn’t seem to agree. You went on an expedition with your mentor to attempt to locate the ark in 1931, didn’t you?” She’s not even looking at a paper for reference.

“It was his obsession. We never came close to finding it. Because it doesn’t exist.”

“We intercepted a message from Cairo to Berlin,” Waller states, seemingly ignoring him now. “‘Obtain Headpiece to the Staff of Ra, Henry Allen, US.’”

He notices Walter’s perplexed look and elaborates, “The Staff of Ra was supposed to reveal the location of the Ark when placed in the Map Room.” He looks to Waller now. “Allen’s never come close to finding the room, much less the ark. He left his university because he wouldn’t give it up.”

“Perhaps with some backing now he’ll have better luck,” the woman suggests.

Oliver scoffs. “Absolutely not. He may be fixated on the ark but he would never join the Nazis.”

“I’d have to vouch for him as well, considering the kind of student he’s turned out,” Walter adds, and he gives a brief nod in gratitude.

“Nevertheless his whereabouts are unknown,” Agent Waller says after a moment’s consideration. “We have to assume that the Nazis have something to do with it or soon will. Hitler takes the legend of the ark and its power seriously, Dr. Queen, and so we have to as well. I’m asking you to recover it for the American government before the Nazis can locate it.” He shifts his stance, about to argue, until she says, “Pay is, of course, negotiable.”

He really can’t afford to turn down another job so soon after losing the hosen to Fyers. Not only that, he owes it to his mentor to find out what’s happened to him, especially if the Nazis have something to do with it. And if the ark is real…

“I accept, Agent Waller. I’ll be on a plane in the morning. Of course, I assume that’s included in my costs.”

She gives a tight-lipped smile but says nothing to that, instead moving to grab up the briefcase left on her seat and striding with her coworker to the door. “We in Washington will be eagerly anticipating your communication that you’ve successfully retrieved the ark, Dr. Queen.” Then she’s out the door.

“Well,” Walter starts after a beat of silence. “I certainly hope you have a reason to feel optimistic about this, Oliver, because all I can make out is that it’s one large goose chase. If Allen is missing—”

“Maybe not,” he counters. “I have something better than US or Nazi intelligence.” It’s his turn to motion for Walter to follow him and they make the journey to his office. Oliver begins searching through haphazardly stacked boxes and files—he’s never gotten around to organizing things himself and his secretary, Ms. Smoak, absolutely refuses to—until he finds the beaten-up, leather-bound book he’s looking for. “Henry sent me his old journal recently. At the least, it’ll give us the last place we know he’s been.”

“And you didn’t bring this up to Agent Waller because?”

“C’mon, Walter. Had to make sure I got the job, didn’t I?” He smirks up at him, then goes back to flipping through the yellowed pages. “There! Nepal.”

“Quite the trip, then,” the curator remarks. “And if the worst has happened?”

“Even if Henry’s gone missing, there might still be someone there who knows something. His son,” Oliver pauses to wet lips suddenly gone dry, “Barry.”

"Do you think he'll still have it, this headpiece?" Walter questions.

"Barry is as much an archeologist as Henry. He'll have kept anything his father would have given him." Oliver’s sure of it.

"So you know him yourself? That's good, isn't it?"

"I'm not so sure,” he can’t help admitting.

“Some sort of history you have with him?” Walter guesses, and it nearly makes Oliver laugh. If the older man only knew how close to the mark he’d hit.

He can’t quite look him in the eye as he responds, “Something like that. But there’s nothing else for it. I’ll have to see him.” The one thing he’s forced himself to avoid for nearly five years.

“Oliver. Oliver?” Walter’s voice snaps him out of his own self-induced reverie. He hadn’t realized he’d been lost in his thoughts for so long. The older man looks worried. “Are you sure about this?”

“Honestly?” He asks, and gives his head a shake. “I’ve already agreed, Walter. And I’ve been through worse.” Which might be a lie; he’s tried not to give it too much thought how bad it might be to see him—to see _Barry_ —again. But it’s his own damn fault this is going to be difficult to begin with. The reason why, well, that’s something he can’t ever tell Walter, no matter how kind the older man’s been to him over the years.

So he gathers his resolve, tucks the old journal away in a pocket, and grabs his hat from the peg off the wall. “Now I’ve got some packing to do.”

He’s ready to head out from the university, but Walter’s voice gives him pause. “Oliver, I suppose this goes without saying, but do be careful.”

At this he smirks, affects a more confident air as he glances over his shoulder. “It’s just my old professor, Walter. Maybe his son.”

“Yes, well, I was rather referring to your competitors,” the other man remarks dryly.

Oh. Right, the Nazis. How the hell had he forgotten about them in all this? He needs to focus if this expedition’s going to be a success, but unfortunately it’s all tangled up in the very heart of personal for him.

But not for long, he determines that night, throwing a fresh change of clothes into his suitcase that he hasn’t gotten around to emptying from the trip to Lian Yu. Just a short stop in Nepal to collect the headpiece, maybe a few short words, and he’ll been gone tracking down the ark. It might even be good for him to do this; perhaps he can finally put all the memories and regrets behind him, in the past where they belong. Store it away like the relics in Walter’s museum.

To do that, however, he’s going to have to dig it up first.


End file.
